New Life
by Seraphina Aster
Summary: After George kills Lennie, Slim takes him under his wing and leads him to his sister-in-law's house. There, George meets Emmie, Slim's daughter, and Peggy, Slim's sister-in-law. Will George be able to move on from Lennie's death and accept his new life with Emmie, Slim, and Peggy?
1. Prolouge

I followed the stable buck out of the room. As I stepped outside and into the cool, mildly humid air, I gazed up at the speckled sky, illuminated by the light of a thousand stars. Crooks and I walked along the dusty road that led to the slightly worn stable, occasionally glancing at the grazing livestock, who were mindlessly chewing at the fresh, tall grass swaying methodically in the evening breeze. When we reached the barn, I stepped into the large, dusty building.

"I got it from here," I reckoned.

Crooks merely nodded and went to the harness room. I grabbed the bucket of hot tar sitting next to the open door and headed over Millie's stall; my lead mule. Sighing, I slowly opened her door, not scaring her in the process. She has been skittish for the past few weeks, no doubt because of the ruckus Lulu caused when she charged into the barn, barking at a few loose chickens that had meandered in.

Closing the door behind me, I glance over Millie. Her chipped right hoof was dangling an inch off of the ground. I slowly bent down to her hoof and, gently dragging the old oak stool behind me under her hoof, pulled out the small tar-covered brush out of the bucket. I slowly wrapped my free hand around her hoof, causing her to jolt.

"Hey, hey, it's okay Millie. It's just me."

I heard shuffling behind me.

"Who's there?" I asked, surveying the barn.

My eyes landed on Lennie, playing with Lulu's puppies.

"Hey Lennie, why don't you head on back to the bunkhouse; you shouldn't be pettin' them pups so much."

Lennie frowned, not wanting to leave the puppies, but eventually got up and unhappily trudged back to the bunkhouse.

The mule snorted and glanced back at me with her soft, coal-black eyes, filled with fear.

I began to smoothly paint the hot tar onto her chipped hoof, humming softly to myself. When the job was done, I lowered her hoof onto the stool, with the warm tar facing up to cool. I stood up and cracked my back, stiff from being hunched over. I reached for my back pocket and pulled out a picture of Heather. It was in these silent moments that I could reflect on my memories.

Heather was the most beautiful gal I'd ever seen; her iridescent emerald eyes complimented her bright russet hair, which she held back in a loose bun. But it wasn't her eyes or her hair that made her so amazing; it was her voice. She would softly sing sorrowful and serene soliloquies, it's emotion seeping through every aspect of my life. We would meet at Calli's piano bar every Saturday night, and she would sing while I would accompany her with a light piano serenade. After our performances, we would wander up the coastal mountains of southern California, catching the last rays of sun and gazing with amazement at the endless night sky above us. I loved watching the beautiful sunsets with her. But I would give up every sunset I'd ever seen to see her just one more time.

After a few years, we decided to get married. After a few weeks, she was pregnant. After a few months, she had Emmie.

I still remember the night my Emmie was born. The hospital was stark white, and the smell of cleanliness reeked. I held Heather's hand as she softly cradled the newborn child. She was fading. Fast.

"Heather, just hang on; I can't do this without you. Please," I whispered, my throat sore from encouraging her throughout the day. She glanced out the window at the setting sun, it's blood red streaks covering the sky. She smiled as a single tear raced down her cheek.

"Take care of our Emmie for me," she whispered.

She would have been a great mother.

I soon quit my job at Calli's, the memory of her too strong for me. When I ran out of money, I had to sell the ranch and search for a job. I gave my sweet Emmie to Heather's sister, Elysa, knowing that she would take better care of her than me.

I was shaken out of my thoughts when Curley stormed into the barn, scaring Millie. The mule bucked, and I barely escaped her previously chipped hoof.

"Damn it, Curley! What the hell?!"

Curley searched Millie's stall, only finding me. Whit and Carlson trailed behind Curley.

"Do you know where Sally is?" he asked, his face beet red with anger.

"I ain't in charge of your wife; I ain't seen her," I replied snarkily.

"You ain't got no right to talk to me that way; I can have you fired in a second!" Curley taunted, sneering at me. I glared right back into his eyes, defying him.

" Oh, please. Anywhere else would be better than here. I've seen the way she looks at you. She purposely avoids you. So let me give you a small piece of advice before you lose her."

My words were as cold and forceful as steel.

"Keep her close, 'cause you never know when she'll leave you."

Pushing my way past Curley, I stormed my way back to the bunkhouse.

I was probably going to regret talking back to him later, but the words needed to be said.

He should appreciate that his wife was still alive.


	2. Learning How to Say Goodbye

The horseshoe clinked against the metal rod, causing an uproar of dust and cheers from the opposing team. Scowling, Carlson hunched over and grabbed the horseshoe. The setting sun cast long, dark shadows upon the large ranch. As the dust slowly floated to the ground, it was gently pushed by a warm breeze. It felt as if time itself had stopped, capturing the golden fields and the serene swaying trees, their ruby, ginger, and golden leaves dancing in the wind.

Unfortunately, time must move on.

And it did.

Candy stumbled out of the barn and whispered something to George. With a quizzical expression upon his face, he followed Curley into the barn. A few minutes later, Candy sluggishly stepped out of the barn.

"What happened, Candy?" I asked, concern filling my voice.

"I-it's 'bout Curley's wife…" his glazed eyes stared off into the distance.

The game came to an abrupt end. The workers gathered around Candy and I.

"She-she's dead."

Gasps and shocked faces swept like a wave across the small, mottled group.

Suddenly, the accusations settled in.

"Where is she?!" Curley demanded, more angry than sad.

Candy glanced back at the barn. Curley took it as an answer. He stormed off to the rugged stable, a group of shell-shocked and angry men following after him. I decided to join the group.

I had to see this for myself.

As we made a beeline for the barn, I noticed George trailing behind the group. He must've left the barn after Candy told everyone about Sally's death. I considered asking him why Candy asked for him first, but I decided I would ask later.

As we filled into the barn, I made my way to the last stall. My eyes found Curley's wife in the gloom, I stopped and stood still and looked. I quietly stepped towards her unmoving corpse, and felt her wrist. My finger gingerly touched her cheek, and I found my hands exploring her slightly twisted neck. I stood up.

It was as if I had broken a vigil of silence.

Curley suddenly came to life.

"I know who done it," he cried. "That big son of-a-bitch done it. I know he done. Why—ever'body else was out there playin' horseshoes." He worked himself into a fury.

"I'm gonna get him. I'm going for my shotgun. I'll kill the big son-of-a-bitch myself. I'll shoot 'im in the guts. Come on, you guys." He ran furiously out of the barn.

"I'll get my Luger," replied Carlson, following Curley out of the large stable.

The men, riled up by Curley's provocative speech, left to grab their guns and dogs.

I turned quietly to George.

"I guess Lennie done it, all right," I mumbled. "Her neck's bust. Lennie coulda did that."

George didn't answer. He slowly nodded.

His hat was so far down on his forehead that his eyes were covered.

"Maybe like that time in Weed you was tellin' about." Again George nodded. I sighed.

"Well, I guess we got to get him. Where you think he might of went?"

It seemed to take George some time to free his words.

"He—would of went south," he murmured. "We come from north so he would of went south."

"I guess we gotta get 'im," I repeated. George stepped close.

"Couldn' we maybe bring him in an' they'll lock him up? He's nuts, Slim. He never done this to be mean." I nodded.

"We might," I vacillated.

"If we could keep Curley in, we might. But Curley's gonna want to shoot 'im. Curley's still mad about his hand. An' s'pose they lock him up an' strap him down and put him in a cage. That ain't no good, George."

"I know," George sighed. "I know."

Carlson burst through the barn doors.

"The bastard's stole my Luger," he shouted. "It ain't in my bag."

Curley followed him, and Curley carried a shotgun in his good hand.

Curley was cold now.

"All right, you guys," he seethed. "The nigger's got a shotgun. You take it, Carlson. When you see 'um, don't give 'im no chance. Shoot for his guts. That'll double 'im over."

"I ain't got a gun." Whit effused.

"You go in Soledad an' get a cop. Get Al Wilts, he's deputy sheriff. Le's go now," Curley ordered. He turned suspiciously on George.

"You're comin' with us, fella."

"Yeah," George mumbled. "I'll come. But listen, Curley. The poor bastard's nuts. Don't shoot 'im. He di'n't know what he was doin'."

"Don't shoot 'im?" Curley cried. "He got Carlson's Luger. 'Course we'll shoot 'im." "Maybe Carlson lost his gun," George said weakly.

"I seen it this morning," replied Carlson. "No, it's been took."

I stood looking down at Curley's wife. "Curley—maybe you better stay here with your wife." Curley's face reddened. "I'm goin'," he said.

"I'm gonna shoot the guts outa that big bastard myself, even if I only got one hand. I'm gonna get 'im." I turned to Candy. "You stay here with he then, Candy. The rest of us better get goin'."

And with that, I joined the hunt for Lennie. Although I noticed George trudging back toward the bunkhouses, I assumed he must be absorbing the reality that Lennie murdered Sally.

I understood.

My group of men was led by Curley, who was furiously clenching his gun as if it were his lifeline. We followed a creek that pooled into the Salinas river, travelling on dusty trail paths and tripping over tree roots and rocks. After about an hour, we began to lose hope.

Until we heard the hushed voices carried by the wind.

Curley, tensing up, began to run towards the voices. The other men, talking amongst themselves, wondered if it truly was Lennie. After all, it could be some random passerby.

That's when we heard the gunshot.

A single, sharp, loud gunshot.

The wildlife scattered from their hiding places, spooked by the suddenness of the sound.

My mind immediately thought of the worst. Did George take such drastic measures? Was that why he didn't join the search for Lennie?

"George. Where you at, George?" I shouted, running past a barricade of bushes that seperated the path from the bank of the river. Curley stepped forward, absorbing the scene in front of him. His eyes landed on Lennie lying on the sand, a bullet wound at the back of his neck.

"Got him, by God." Curley muttered.

He went over and looked down at Lennie, and then he looked back at George. "Right in the back of the head," he said softly.  
I walked over to George, who was staring solemnly at the other side of the bank, and sat next to him.  
"Never you mind," I consoled. "A guy got to sometimes."  
But Carlson was standing over George. "How'd you do it?" he asked.  
"I just done it," George said tiredly.  
"Did he have my gun?"  
"Yeah. He had your gun."  
"An' you got it away from him and you took it an' you killed him?"  
"Yeah. Tha's how." George's voice was almost a whisper. He looked steadily at his right hand that had held the gun.  
I twitched George's elbow. "Come on, George. Me an' you'll go in an' get a drink."  
George let himself be helped to his feet. "Yeah, a drink."  
"You hadda, George. I swear you hadda. Come on with me." I lamented. I led George into the entrance of the trail and up toward the highway.  
Curley and Carlson looked after us.

And Carlson said, "Now what the hell ya suppose is eatin' them two guys?"

I ignored them. Right now, all of my focus was on George. His movements seemed monotonous, slowly sauntering forward like a zombie. His unfocused eyes stared at the ground. I knew where we needed to go.

"Hey George, do ya mind if we stop by my sister-in-law's place to pick up some cash?"

He nodded. I took it as a yes.

We meandered our way down the dusty road, the occasional car or buggie passing by. By the time we reached the house, the sun was casting it's last rays upon the earth, blanketing the once white clouds in deep crimson and violet hues. The house itself was a light teal, with slight hints of weathering. As I stepped onto the porch, the door opened.

It was my little Emmie.

Her blonde pigtails were filled with twigs and grass bits , and her denim overalls

covered her red and white striped faded shirt. Her iridescent emerald eyes, like her late mother's, glistened in the light of the setting sun. She smiled, revealing a missing front tooth.

"Daddy!"

She sprinted forward and bombarded me with a big hug. I returned the hug. George's eyes widened. Footsteps could be heard coming up to the front door. Peggy came up to the door, glancing at the both of us.

"It took ya long enough to get back. Emmie's been pesterin' me for the past few days, askin' me when you'd be back." Peggy's eyes landed on George. "Who's this?"

"This is George; it's… complicated. I'll tell ya later."

I looked over to George. His eyes hadn't left Emmie.

"He'll be stayin' with us for a while."

Peggy huffed. "Well, don't just stand there! Come in. The apple pie's gettin' cold."

Emmie glanced over at George, who's gaze hadn't moved from the young seven year old girl, and took his hand.

"Come with me! I wanna show you my rock collection!"

George smiled.

 **Hello! I wish to continue this story, but I need reviews and suggestions! I hope that you liked It!**


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